thirstforvice | Ripper Street/Escape to the Suburbs

Entry tags:

verse: safe hands

Ripper Street/Escape to the Suburbs

When Drake is cleared to go back to work, Jackson's sense of unease grows tenfold. He's been anxious ever since returning to their room in Whitechapel, very aware that the Vigilance Men are down but not out, and very aware of where they live. But there's always been the two of them, together, with multiple locked doors between them and the outside world. Now, he's alone, mobility still hugely limited by his broken leg, and Drake's alone on the streets where he can't keep him close.

The worries would have driven him to distraction, or drugs, if not for Mrs Ramsay.

Their landlady truly was a godsend, more than happy to care for her invalid tenant, completely unphased in the knowledge of what he and Drake got up to behind closed doors. She was gifted at tending to his healing injuries, and she was very happy to both prattle on to him and listen in turn. She doesn't judge him nor take offence, either, when he admits to feeling unsafe in her lodgings. Quite the contrary, she offers to find him and Drake some place safer. Whilst he doesn't like being left alone, he appreciates the offer too much to turn her down.

It only takes her a few days before she finds somewhere she thinks would be perfect. As she lays out supper for her favourite doctor and his sergeant, she tells him all about the house in the suburbs. It's close to one of those new underground rail stations, she tells him, making the journey into the city easy despite the distance. It's large but affordable, on a combined wage of a sergeant and police physician. The neighbourhood is respectable, and safe. And, she can't help but slipping in, plenty of spare space for a housekeeper, should they choose to take one (which, really, she feels they should. Did they even know how to cook their meals?).

Her enthusiasm is really highly infectious.

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Drake is bewildered for a second, before gently stroking at his lover's cheek.

"I was jesting, Homer. You know no one holds my eye but you."

"Maybe," Jackson frowns, "But that Treves dogs my every step. How am I supposed to believe he won't be takin' my place in this bed as well as in my dead room, before long?"

The vulnerability he feels is clear in his face and eyes, in the way he looks at Drake.

"Because you know, well as me, that you were the first to lay claim to my bed - and you will be the last."

Drake kisses his Homer softly, deeply. They have not been able to enjoy each other since their beating, but that does not mean he does not desire him still.

Jackson is stiff and still in Drake's arms for a moment, before accepting his words and settling down, returning the kisses.

"I am lonely, without you," he admits. "I miss my work."

"Tomorrow, we will spend our afternoon at leisure. And then you may go back on Monday - if, and only if, you will take both carriage and chair."

Drake is determined to act as the man of the house, even if Jackson is determined to thwart him at every turn.

"Alright, fine," Jackson rolls his eyes. He will take the goddamned chair.

That doesn't mean he will actually make use of it.

"See, you can submit to what's good for you."

Drake holds Jackson close to him, careful of his injuries, and yet determined to kiss and comfort where he can.

As their kisses grow more heated, Jackson's body works on instinct to try and push Bennet onto his back, before being brought harshly back to earth when he tries to move his leg.

He pulls back from his lover's lips with a frustrated groan of pain.

"Shh," Drake says, moving his hand to hold Jackson's hip in place.

"I know it's a hardship, Homer, but you need to lie still."

"I'm fed up of lying beside you like some... blushin' virgin," Jackson complains, skin flushed with his arousal.

"Lying here not touching you is the worst form of torture."

"We can have our pleasure, Homer," Drake says soothingly.

"But only if you will lie still."

"There's little pleasure in that," Jackson points out petulantly.

"Ain't no man I know gotten much enjoyment out of lying still."

"Then you must let me move you where I will, or I ain't gonna move you at all."

Drake is firm in this. He will wait as long as he will not hurt his Homer, even if it takes weeks.

"Do as you will," Jackson sighs, the moment fading fast. There is no passion in being arranged by his lover like a ragdoll.

But Drake isn't a man to give up easily, and he leans over his lover to place a soft kiss to his lips.

"I do nothing that you do not want."

"I want my legs around you," Jackson explains. "I want to be on my knees above you. But unless you've got some way of turnin' back time so those bastards don't break my leg in two, then I don't see how any of that'll be happenin' tonight."

He brings his hands up over his face, shielding the sadness and frustration there from view.

"I would love you with equal passion but less violence," Drake tries to explain himself, but comes up short.

He lays hands on Jackson's undamaged leg and bends it up, gently guiding his lover to lie on that leg before pressing close to him.

"Brace yourself," he says, before slowly and carefully drawing Jackson's injured leg over Drake's hip.

Jackson winces but makes no noise as Drake manipulates his leg, holding on tight as they move closer together.

To distract himself from the pain, he presses a firm kiss to his Bennet's lips.

Drake kisses him deeply, warm and gentle.

"Beautiful," he says, pushing his hands up under Jackson's nightshirt to touch skin.

"I love you," Jackson says against Drake's lips, muscles relaxing beneath Bennet's touch.

"My handsome Sergeant."

Drake pulls back an inch or two, only enough to work loose his waistcoat and shirt and try to force away his trousers and underthings.

"I would make love to you."

Jackson groans at the thought, helping Drake off with his shirt and vest, pulling his own nightshirt off over his head.

It has been so long, now, that he does not let him consider the possibility of them not being able to find a comfortable position. He is too desperate to care about the pain.

Drake shoves down his bottom things and kicks them away before reaching out behind him, feeling the stretch across his ribs and uncaring, to retrieve the jar of oil they keep there.

He clutches it as he kisses Homer again, reaching between them to take his dick in hand, relax him.

Jackson's groan is louder at the touch, pressing in closer and kissing his lover's throat.

"You're a quick learner, Benny."

"Only for you," Bennet swears, stroking him to hardness with slow and lingering touches.

"You hear me? No one but you."

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